


Well, Fuck Me.

by Zephrbabe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Closet Sex, Couch Sex, Cowgirl Position, Crack, Creampie, Cunnilingus, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Knotting, Masturbation, Morning After, Mystery Character(s), Nick Fury is Not Amused, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pre-HYDRA Reveal, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Avengers, Public Blow Jobs, SHIELD Agent Darcy Lewis, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Science, Self-Rescuing Princess, Sex Pollen, Strike - Freeform, Succubus Darcy Lewis, Surprise nudity, Surprises, TaserHawk - Freeform, Theatre, Tiny Steve Big Dick, Vaginal Fingering, astrophysics conference, bad things happening to good coffee, captain america doesn't get days off, look the play was really bad ok?, taserbones, the plot before the porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephrbabe/pseuds/Zephrbabe
Summary: Various ficlets of Darcy Lewis getting into smutty and nearly-smutty situations.





	1. Waking Up - Darcy/?

**Author's Note:**

> Several of these are an imagine-your-favorite-male-here, where I couldn't decide who best fit, because I ship her with almost everyone.

Darcy was warm.

This was not, technically, unusual, since she was snuggled in bed and seemed to be fully covered by the snow-white hotel duvet. However, Darcy was an inveterate snuggler, so she could tell, even when less than half-awake, that the warm presence at her back was not her enormous Hulk body pillow with built-in heater.

The arm curled heavily around her waist kind of put that one to bed.

So did the hot, insistent press of one of Darcy’s favorite things against the back of her thigh. _Now that is my kind of wake up call._

Darcy didn’t recall taking anyone back to her room after the applied astrophysics conference’s opening dinner, but then:

“ _Ugh, Darcy, let’s get out of here and find a real bar.”_

“ _Someone say something douchey again, Doc?”_

“ _Dr. Moran just tried to imply I used his work as a- and I_ quote _, Darcy- jumping off point for my research.”_

“ _The heck? He’s not even a real astrophysicist.”_

“ _I know, right?”_

“ _Let’s go find a real bar, Jane.”_

Darcy was feeling surprisingly un-hungover, for all that she now vividly recalled many hours of carousing, boozing, flirting, dancing, and maybe a spot of drunken karaoke (the best kind, in her opinion).

The previous evening was now mostly back in her brain, _total recall- ok not total, or else I’d remember who this arm and this dick belong to._ Such were the thoughts of a sleepy Darcy who felt, maybe, still a little drunk.

Ok, definitely a little drunk still, because it took her a second to realize she had pressed right back up against her mystery bed buddy and was unsuccessfully trying to wriggle so his morning wood would slot neatly between her thighs and she could return the favor of a wake up call. Darcy loved returning favors, so she wriggled a little more firmly.

The fingers splayed on her belly twitched, and Darcy grinned to herself. _Mission Wakeup Call: successful. New mission, should you choose to accept it: two orgasms before breakfast._

A gravelly voice above and behind her head replied, “Mission accepted.”


	2. 725-C - Darcy/Rumlow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I’ve always had a soft spot for Darcy being a BAMF SHIELD analyst/agent. I’m also partial to the occasional fic with the STRIKE guys when they’re still pre-Hydra-reveal where we can pretend we don’t know they’re actually neo-nazis. *sigh*
> 
> So this woke me up at 5:30am.

Debriefs normally went much better than this.

Normally she stood in front of the group of STRIKE agents seated around a horseshoe table in the conference room and went over the mission details. Normally they took notes and added comments, and it was such old hat that they could often finish in less than an hour.

But today Agent Rumlow just would not. Pay. Attention.

He was mission leader, Alpha Team Leader, and general STRIKE leader; she knew he knew how to be professional. Instead of his normal attitude- that of intimidating competence- today he was just being intimidating. He didn’t interject pertinent mission details or offer understated praise to his subordinates. He just sat coiled taut in his seat, flicking his pen over his knuckles like he’d rather be holding a knife. And he was staring at the back of her head with the intensity of a thousand burning suns, leaving her to direct Alpha Team’s frankly rambling mission account feeling like a bug under a microscope.

It didn’t help that the mission hadn’t been totally smooth. The team had gone in to shut down some kind of chemical warfare lab, only to find that Darcy’s intel wasn’t up-to-date. The placed had been cleared out; all the scientists gone, along with most of the equipment. There had been booby traps, which had mostly been deactivated instead of tripped. Agent Denisovitch had been sprayed with a mild corrosive, and was in medical. That was the sum total of casualties, which was far fewer than _some_ STRIKE debriefs Darcy had had the displeasure of attending.

Darcy didn’t _enjoy_ debriefs. She was pretty sure no one did. She was tired; they were all tired. Catching a couple of hours of sleep on a sofa in the Incident Room while the team were en-route back to base wasn’t her idea of well-rested. So when she fumbled the hard-copy mission images ( _thank you, cutting-edge spy company, for keeping the hell that is photocopiers in my life_ ), and had to crouch down in the middle of Agent Yuan’s account to pick them up, Rumlow’s muttered, “Jesus” was the straw that pissed off the cat.

She rose from her crouch and whipped around, the photos clutched in her hands. Darcy would have been proud of her grace under anger if she hadn’t been feeling so self-conscious under Rumlow’s full glare. “What is your damage, Agent?” Darcy hissed.

Agent Yuan’s mouth audibly clicked shut in the taut silence of a room full of STRIKE agents on high alert.

Mortification was heating her face, but Darcy couldn’t stop herself now. She could feel all the perceived  professionalism drain away from her. And fucking _Brock Rumlow_ (who names their kid Brock?! Do they _want_ to end up with an asshole in the family?) just sat there, tension in his forearms and jaw, and said nothing while she lost her shit.

“Was there some aspect of my handling you think was lacking, Team Leader? Would you prefer it if I were a full field agent? Is the fact that I can’t crush a man’s skull with my thighs critical for mission support? Or maybe you found fault with my tech skills? I’m sure you could spare one of the A-Team to tinker with every new computer system you find, instead of me doing it remotely; I’m sure it’d only take them a few extra mission hours to get past any encryptions. Was that it? Maybe that’s not it; maybe you just object to my appearance or the quality of my photocopies. Perhaps you’d prefer to run this debrief yourself.” She was running out of righteous anger in the fraught silence of the debrief room, but refused to let him see it. “I repeat: _What is your damage?_ ” She loomed over him as best she could in her sensible flats and barked, “Speak.”

“I haven’t been able to think about anything but bending you over this table since the second you walked through the door.”

So that was what a dead silence sounded like.

No one seemed to breathe, least of all Darcy. Agent Rumlow clenched his jaw as though shutting his mouth more firmly could pull what he’d just said back into nonexistence.

Darcy recovered first, though she staggered back a step. She couldn’t- didn’t dare- look away from Rumlow’s face. What she’d brushed off as a stoic and closed-off expression of annoyance and disgust seemed to be, now that she was actually looking at him, a full-blown attack of lust. His dark eyes were fully dilated, and his mouth was shiny and pink where he’d been biting his lip, apparently behind her back.

“Rollins?” Darcy called softly, briefly frozen like a prey animal when they sense a predator. “Are you sure Denisovitch was the only one who tripped a chemical trap?”

Rollins cursed expressively in Farsi, which seemed to bring some animation back to the gathered STRIKE agents. “I’m sorry, Agent Lewis,” he rumbled ruefully. She could hear the slump in his shoulders. “He said it must’ve been a dud.”

Darcy felt like cursing, herself. _Thor save me from macho military-types_. The professional mien she’d briefly lost seemed to flow right back into place, and she straightened her shoulders. She didn’t turn her back to Rumlow, however. Mimicking the tone of voice Agent Hand used on everyone under Level 7, Darcy said, “Debrief will be in recess until 1400 hours. Get some rest. Dismissed.”

The awkward, near-silent shuffle of STRIKE Team Alpha leaving the conference room was significantly different than the way her mission debriefs usually ended. They’d left all their paperwork behind, too, she was sure, so she’d have to reserve the room until they could come back to finish the debrief in six hours.

She felt Rollins close at her side. Thank Thor- she didn’t want to be alone with Rumlow in an altered state, especially when he looked like he was holding himself as taut as a piano wire. “Agent Rollins, be so good as to escort Agent Rumlow to medical. I’ll alert the lab we may have a 725-c situation.”

“Sex pollen? Why not 725-a, truth serum?”

“Besides the dilated pupils, elevated breathing, and the fact that he hasn’t looked away from me in the last five minutes?” Darcy quipped, keeping up the eye contact with Rumlow even though she could feel her cheeks reddening. “I think the fact that he said he wants to fuck me on a table kind of gives it away.”

Rollins expelled a breath of air that might have been a laugh. “That’s exactly why I though it had to be truth serum.”

The heat of Darcy’s embarrassment turned instantly into a heat of another kind. She suddenly had the urge to press her thighs together for a little relief. Rumlow must have clued in somehow, because he jerked in his seat, leaning towards her and gripping the table.

Never let it be said that Darcy Lewis didn’t know when to be professional. She didn’t let this revelation about her nominal boss, or her reaction to it, bleed into her words when she crisply addressed Rumlow,

“We’ll let medical determine what exactly you were hit with. I’ll expect you when we resume at 1400.”

He stood carefully, in just the way he had that time he’d been thrown into a wall on a mission; he moved like he was ignoring significant pain, and only controlling his muscles with pure determination. There didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him; Darcy gave him a once-over to make sure, but her eyes snagged on the one small difference ( _ok, not small,_ not small _; Jesus, Lewis, the man is having a medical emergency, stop gaping_ ) to how he normally appeared.

She glanced up and, _Thor damn it_ , he’d caught her looking. The way his lip curled was probably supposed to be a leer. He was too tense to really pull it off, and Darcy was a little amazed how good it looked on him anyway.

There was zero chance she was willing to attempt witty banter with either agent. She was tired, stressed, and now she was horny to boot. Darcy needed them gone, like, two minutes ago.

She figured a direct order had worked on him before; wouldn’t hurt to try one again: “Go to medical. Now.”

Brock turned to leave as soon as the words left her lips. He seemed to relax a tiny bit once he’d stopped staring at her.

Turning to Agent Rollins, she said, “I’ll call ahead, so they know what to expect.” Rollins’ craggy face seemed on the verge of a grin. Darcy refused to let this bizarre turnabout get to her, since she’d already blown up at someone today. She schooled her face into the neutral mask all the probies had literally practiced in front of mirrors the second week of training. “If it’s a 725-a, he’ll be able to return to debrief before it wears off. If it’s a 725-c, they’ll probably have an antidote ready, and he’ll be able to return to debrief as scheduled.”

Rollins shrugged and moved to follow his CO, who was already in the hall, partway to the elevators. And walking with a slight hobble, she noted.

“Agent Rollins?” He paused and cocked his head in her direction. Darcy steeled herself and modulated her tone into Coulson-level neutrality, “If it’s a 725-c and they don’t have an antidote on hand, please advise them that Agent Darcy Lewis is the volunteer contact.”

A brusque nod, and he was gone.

Everyone thought Brock Rumlow was scary. Everyone. Including Darcy. On top of that, she answered to Agent Rumlow on missions. She was the best tech for their team, and she’d earned the respect of everyone on STRIKE, including Rumlow’s. Telling Rollins that she was willing to hump the everloving daylights out of his boss in the name of medical health could potentially compromise her professional standing with the team.

Problem was, she was more than willing. Problem was, she’d seen how beautifully he’d reacted to those two measly orders she’d thrown out, and her imagination was running rampant with all the possibilities of a man that skilled and hardened and… and _hard_ obeying her every lascivious whim. Problem was, knowing he was under the influence of a mystery compound didn’t dampen her interest in the slightest.

As she locked up the conference room and made for her quarters, Darcy found herself hoping that Brock Rumlow was in the grip of a 725-c with no known antidote, just so she could see exactly how unprofessional they could get.


	3. Sexy-Slapstick - Darcy/Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote half of this, and then was prompted for more by anais_ninja who requested sexy slapstick, and who am I to refuse?

Darcy rotated quickly in front of the mirror conveniently placed in the hall, casting a critical eye over her day-old clothes.

“I look pretty darn professional for someone who’s not wearing any underwear.”

Someone behind her in the apartment coughed.

“Unless you are bringing a cup of that coffee I can smell, or you’re inviting me to round three,” she said, inspecting the remains of her eyeliner, “I am leaving before I’m late for work.”

“ _Ms. Lewis?_ ”

The skin up Darcy’s back prickled, from the base of her spine to the base of her skull. She didn’t want to turn around, but her body had a flair for the dramatic, and she found herself turning on her heel at a snail’s pace.

Avoiding eye contact with one of the last people she wanted or expected to meet in these conditions, she said levelly, “You must be the roommate.”

“Something like that,” former-Director Fury deadpanned. He was wearing his infamous leather trenchcoat over what appeared to be black silk pajamas, and he was holding a chipped SHIELD mug.

“Thought you were supposed to be dead?”

“No such luck, Lewis.”

"You’re telling me.” Even though she’d just checked herself out in the mirror, Darcy had the terrible sensation that her skirt was tucked into the waistband of her nonexistent panties. Then again, that had been her default feeling when faced with the imposing glare of her bosses’ bosses’ boss even before he’d been reported dead.

"DARCY, YOU LEFT YOUR PANTI-”

Clint, the lovable idiot, skidded into the hall on his socks, and only managed not to plow into his “roommate” by flinging both hands out to grab his doorframe. Darcy was dismayed to watch the arc of her electric blue satin undies: from Clint’s hand, through the air like a harbinger of doom, and down, down into Fury’s steaming mug.


	4. Could Have Stopped - Darcy/?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one earns the E rating, and was probably the first smut I'd written in 10 years.

There had been a moment when she could have stopped before she got in over her head. She didn’t know when that moment had been, but she’d missed it.

He’d strolled into the lab, cool as you please, with a tray of coffee for Dr. Foster and Ms. Lewis, and made small talk with Jane for a couple of minutes before leaving. Jane had been working out an equation on the whiteboard and sipping her drink, so she hadn’t noticed the way his lips had tipped up and his eyes had gone half-lidded. But Darcy had, because that look was all for her.

She’d called “Bathroom!” to Jane moments after he left, and hustled out of the lab.

She’d been hauled into a supply closet before she registered the door next to her had opened. He might have wrenched her arm a little in his eagerness. Her back would be sore later, too, but that was because metal wire shelving wasn’t so forgiving.

Her skirt and underwear had been unceremoniously shoved aside, and he’d had her trembling and crying out in moments, his face pressed between her legs. He spread her open for his assault, one long-fingered hand pressing against her, the other falling to his fly.

He caught some of the wet seeping from her, and returned his hand to his lap, tongue and lips never letting up. When she came, he never slowed, relentless in the endeavor. Two fingers were inside her, tapping against the spot inside that made her legs quiver. She was out of breath and tingling, but she was getting close again already.

Then he slipped a third finger into her, and the gentle tap turned into a devastating hammering. She may have screamed around her own fist as her body bowed tightly over his. She definitely felt the gush of hot fluid that spilled out of her and over his face.

She heard his wrung-out groan and felt him tense between her legs. His arm stilled, and all the tension left his shoulders.

She squeaked when he gave one last, long lick to her overstimulated flesh, but didn’t try to wiggle away. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate.

He stood, wiped his face and hands with a cloth (was that an actual handkerchief?) from his back pocket, and started helping her put her clothing to rights. That was nice of him, considering she could hardly stand. By his grin, she could tell that he noticed.

Once she was more or less back to normal (visually at least- she was still getting fluttery aftershocks), Darcy tried making for the door. Instead, she was caught up in his arms and kissed soundly. His mouth was tangy with the taste of her.

Against her lips, he said, “Thank you. I needed that.” It felt like she blinked, and he’d slipped from the dark closet and away down the hall.

She stayed in the dark and tried to bring her breathing under control before returning to Jane and the lab.

There had been a moment when she could have stopped it, yes, but she was damned if she’d stop now.


	5. Day 4 FYDL Drabble-a-Thon Darcy/Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/B/O Steve/Darcy
> 
> Definitely earns the E rating. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Separation
> 
> Word Count: 807
> 
> Charity: [Doctors without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières](https://donate.doctorswithoutborders.org/onetime.cfm)

Steve’s phone rang, and they both groaned. She knew that ring, knew what it meant. But for chrissakes, it was supposed to be their  _day off_. They were kind of tied up.

He stretched out behind her to scoop his phone off the nightstand, the shift jostling their spooned position. Darcy swallowed her moan, but couldn’t help how her inner muscles tried to clamp down on him, stuck inside her. She didn’t want him to have to go, and apparently neither did her body.

“Rogers.”

The annoyed tone in Steve’s voice brought Darcy from the lax contentment of knotted snuggles to ready for round two in an instant. She probably shouldn’t find his irritation with others so hot.

Darcy resisted the temptation to bear down on him as he took the call. She definitely thought about it, though- about rocking her ass until he was panting in her ear again and gripping her hips. He’d miss the call to assemble, but she would get pounded into the mattress. Orgasms or world safety? Decisions, decisions.

Something of her thoughts must have been revealed in her body language or her scent, because Steve set his teeth against her bonding scar while some quasi-government spook was giving him the short version. Darcy stilled under him and tried extra hard not to buck her hips. The light pressure was sending electric tingles directly to her clit.

He withdrew his mouth, but then the hand not holding his phone up to his ear started stroking up and down her side, knuckles brushing the underside of her breast with every pass. Darcy could feel a trickle of wetness leak out from around his dick and start down the back of her thigh. They both knew he’d have to leave soon;  _why_  was he revving her up like this?

“Debrief will happen en route; I don’t want to let the situation get any more out of hand.” Ooh, fuck, he was using the Captain America voice. It had echoes of Alpha dominance, and now was really  _not_  the time for her to be thinking about how much she liked it when he used it on her.

Still listening to the analyst/agent on the other end, Steve lifted Darcy’s thigh to give him an easier time of sliding out of her. He was always so careful, though he usually didn’t try to abandon her ladyparts until his knot had receded.

The pull and stretch of Steve’s half-hard cock leaving her caused Darcy to turn her face into the pillow to muffle her squeak. She felt empty, and bereft, and a whole lot of cum leaving her open pussy. 

She whipped her head around to look at Steve when she felt his fingers pushing some of his cum back into her. His eyes were fixed on his ministrations, and though his mouth held the smallest satisfied smirk, his voice gave none of his emotions away.

“Yes, alright. Wheels up in twenty.”

He hung up, and Darcy immediately groaned, “What the fuck?” She didn’t know if she was asking about the call or his teasing.

Steve’s smile ticked up, and he shrugged. “Gotta go.”

Darcy rolled onto her back, her legs bent at the knee and falling open. “I know.” She watched him watch her for a moment; she perused the heated blue of his eyes, the familiar dips of his muscles, the darker shade of hair at his groin, his awesome dick, the way it was glistening with her juices. The moment spooled out and she got impatient, “What.”

“I want to remember exactly how you look right now.”

She knew she made quite the picture: skin rosy from all the sex, nipples peaked, hair a rat’s nest from his hands, lips swollen from his kisses, pussy shiny and dripping with his cum. She looked like pure Omega invitation.

“Yeah, remember this when you’re out on your mission,” she taunted, stroking a finger over her clit and dipping into her body. He was the one who’d gotten her worked up, but she could damn well finish herself off.

Steve surged forward, and captured her wandering hand. He brought it to his mouth and licked their combined fluids off her finger. Then, with the rumbling timbre of his Alpha voice, commanded, “No orgasms until I get back.”

Darcy’s pussy clenched up, her throat unintentionally loosing a moan. Getting control of herself, she pressed her palm over her clit and vulva to relieve the sudden ache, and glared at Steve.

“Ugh, fine. But be warned: when you get back, I am going to lash you to the bed and ride you til you can’t remember your own name.”

He laughed, already sauntering towards the bathroom for one of his army-quick showers. “Sounds good to me, doll.”


	6. How to Date a Succubus, Darcy/Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the silly "title of a fic I'll never write" meme, this title was provided by Phoenix_173

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma wrote this:  
> How to Date a Succubus: You learn to be great at sharing
> 
> Steve loved his girlfriend. He really did. But she had a sort of…thing. Where she sucked the life force out of him during intercourse.
> 
> It usually just tickled, but he did notice that after an absence, she seemed to really take him for everything he was worth…and he was worth quite a bit, thanks to the super serum.
> 
> Thankfully, he has other serum enhanced individuals in his life who are willing to help sweet, succubus Darcy out. And he really can’t say that he minds one bit.  
> \--
> 
> And I wrote the rest in honor of Nix's birthday!

Steve collapsed back into the plush mountain of pillows on Darcy’s bed, and tried to regulate his breathing.

He’d never come so hard in his  _life_ , and that included the time he was fifteen, and he and Bucky had listened when Father Mallory said the sin of Onan was one of the worst there was. Back then, he’d gone five whole days before he couldn’t help himself, and he’d brought himself off so quick he’d nearly gone into an asthmatic episode.

Right now, though, he  _couldn’t feel his legs_. Darcy dismounted him with the grace she only exhibited in the bedroom, and snuggled into his side. She was huffing a bit, but her breathing was nothing like as labored as Steve’s.

The sweat was cooling Steve’s overheated skin, except where his girl was pressed along his flank. He would never say it out loud, but she was glowing with a bit of sweat herself. Not to mention, actually glowing. In the dim light of the overcast afternoon, Darcy stood out as faintly radiant. She was so beautiful like this, happy and sated and full of life, it filled his heart even as he lay drained of all energy.

Darcy stretched against him, her breasts and belly molding to his ribs, and released a pleased sound. Under normal conditions, a noise like that would have given Steve a second wind.

“I missed you,” Darcy said, pressing a kiss to his heaving chest. Steve hummed an agreement.

Any time he had to leave on an extended mission, his return was always… intense. She didn’t only miss him for the sex, he knew. Was it only four months ago she’d first said she loved him? They’d been rushing in opposite directions, trying to get to a planning meeting and getting lunch for the geniuses, respectively. Darcy had just slipped “love you” in between admonishing him to eat more fruit and calling out a new musician for his list.

The memory brought a smile.

The knock came a moment later, and Steve felt the smile turn into a grin. Darcy sat up against him, and peered at his face.

“Steve, you didn’t!” Surprise, incredulity, and excitement flitted across her expression. She didn’t wait for an answer, but popped out of bed, slipping an electric purple silk chemise over her head as she made for the door.

He heard the door open, and Darcy laughed and said, “Is it my birthday?”

“Don’t know about that, doll. Stevie said you wanted us?” Bucky had been skeptical at first, but by his tone, Steve knew his best friend was over any reservations he might have had.

“He didn’t need to say much, суккуб,” Natasha added. “You must have been starving after Steve being away so long.”

Steve could hear Darcy leading them back towards the bedroom, and flipped a fold of the sheet over his crotch. Seemed better manners.

Darcy trailed into the room, flashing that gorgeous, full smile at her guests. Natasha and Bucky were both damp from showers and dressed in colorless standard-issue sweats. Natasha’s lips twitched up when she saw Steve in bed, but Bucky outright guffawed.

“She too much for ya, punk?”

Darcy tossed her hair, flashing a row of hickies up the side of her neck. “Most of the time, _he’s_  too much for  _me_.” She threw Natasha a wink, and was gratified to get a smirk in response.

Natasha stripped down to her underwear without a word, and backed Darcy into the bed. Darcy wasted no time in getting her hands on the redhead, smoothing her palms over Natasha’s waist, a thumb brushing over the pale scars on her abdomen.

“Beautiful,” Darcy murmured, and leaned in.

Bucky landed on the bed next to Steve, naked as a jaybird and watching Natasha peel Darcy out of her chemise while trading slow, deep kisses.

Darcy was shoved unceremoniously onto Bucky, who caught her as she laughed and turned in his arms, peppering kisses over his skin. Natasha followed Darcy down, pressing into her back and shifting the weight of her brown curls over one shoulder.

The three of them were pressed together, Darcy gasping between Natasha and Bucky in a matter of minutes. The faint glow of her skin against their contrast made Steve want to pull out his sketchbook.

They did something that had Darcy moaning and reaching out to grab Steve’s hand. He met her eyes, blown dark and fathomless, and watched as her body bucked in orgasm, never looking away from him.

Maybe he’d get a second wind after all.


	7. Glass Mishap, Darcy/Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Steve/Darcy inspired by wahwahwaffles dropping a ceiling fixture on her head while changing a lightbulb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This M rated ficlet was prompted by the following exchange:
> 
> Anonymous asked:  
> Remove item of clothing, put on floor, push it along to clear safe stepping area of glass, pray to Thor, make it across safely, post triumphant selfie, remember too late you took off item of clothing, feel embarrassed, accept good natured ribbing as we are glad you're safe, eat comfort food and curse breakable glass.
> 
> wahwahwaffles:  
> SINCE I SmASHED MY FOREHEAD SOMEONE WRITE ME THIS?  
> Darcy drops the light globe thing on her head and then floor. she is trapped on ladder. Friday calls the avengers to assemble to rescue her favorite human. Darcy is a self rescuing princess and removes her nightgown.  
> Aaaaaaaaaaand Steve comes running in.  
> GO GO GO!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> So here you go.

It was days like this that Darcy really wished she had a superpower. Telekinesis would be preferred, but she’d take the ability to fly, or maybe some kind of glass-bending power. Or even the ability not to scream when a light fixture slips out of her hands and shatters on her fancy heated floor. 

Next time she’d just call maintenance, like every other person in the Tower, probably.

Friday’s voice was even and mellifluous as ever, “Stay calm. Help is on the way, Ms. Lewis.”

Darcy glanced up at the ceiling- much closer to her head than usual- and made a face. “Pretty sure I got this, Friday.”

She glanced down. There was glass all down the hallway. She was  _not_  about to recreate that scene from  _Die Hard_  unless Jane’s research was at stake. Since the only thing at stake was Darcy’s afternoon off if she didn’t get down from this stepladder, it was a better idea to put her big girl panties on and get her own self out of this mess. 

There was nothing for it: the only way to protect her woefully bare feet (oh, the hubris!) was to lay something over the glass to clear her way.

Since the only thing to hand was the oversized Thor sleep shirt she was wearing, Darcy decided Big Thunder would approve her sacrifice- and the gratuitous nudity- and whipped her shirt off and let it drift down onto the glass shards directly below the stepladder. She’d have to use it to clear a little space with her feet first, but it was doable. 

Darcy sent a here’s-hoping to Frigga, and pushed her way down her hall, catching up the worst of the glass in her shirt. Her feet were unscathed. Take  _that_ , falling inanimate object!

“Ha!” Darcy permitted herself a little fist pump.

And then her door exploded open.

Oh, fuck, it was Steve.

He had his shield braced for action, and he was breathing like he’d been running for his life.

Or maybe her life. 

Or maybe just up twenty flights of stairs, from the gym level. Which, considering he was sweaty and dressed in some ridiculously tight athletic gear, seemed a safe bet.

Darcy had had fantasies that started like this. Well. Not  _exactly_  like this, but definitely with Steve I-Could-Fuck-You-All-Day Rogers bursting into her room with that wild look in his eyes.

In her fantasies, he didn’t usually stand there gaping at her, but Darcy would work with what she had. 

What she had was, she belatedly realized, a pair of magnificent breasts on full display, because Saturday was a stay-in-bed, no-bra day. Maybe her superpower was said magnificent breasts. Steve certainly seemed to have his eyes glued to them.

Propping a fist on her hip like it was no big thing, Darcy said, “Say something, Steve, you’re making this weird.”

His eyes flicked down, and she watched him swallow.

She didn’t regret using her sleep shirt to clear up the broken glass, but Darcy did now kind of wish she wasn’t wearing the Captain America underwear Nat had given her for Avengers Secret Santa. She had Steve’s shield emblazoned over her lady bits like a particularly unsubtle bullseye.

“Friday reported screams and breaking glass from your apartment,” he said. Was she imagining his voice being lower than usual? Darcy’s fantasies routinely involved Steve’s potential bedroom voice, so it might just be wishful thinking. 

“I’m fine, just some broken glass.” 

Darcy squeaked as Steve strode forward. The shield rang out on her fancy floor when he let it fall. He dropped to one knee in front of her and looked up, and her panties just about combusted. “Are you injured?”

Her heart was racing, and all her blood seemed to be flowing south, away from her brain. “What?”

“Darcy, are you hurt?” His hands were on her feet like he wanted her to check them for glass, but she knew she was fine.

“No,” she answered with a faint breath. “I’m not hurt.”

Steve was kneeling at her feet, his warm palms trailing up and down her calves. His eyes were darker blue than she’d ever seen them. He licked his lips, catching her gaze on the plush pink of his mouth. Darcy’s attention fell down the line of his body, between the V of his legs, where the shield had been hiding what Steve’s sweatpants could not.

 _That_  was already better than her fantasies.

Darcy reached out, her hand cupping his jaw, the prickle of half a day’s beard faint on her palm. Steve licked his lips again, and Darcy pressed her thumb against his lower lip, smoothing the slick skin.

There was a commotion in the hall, and in a move Darcy didn’t quite follow, Steve lurched to his feet, shield in hand. He placed himself squarely between mostly-naked Darcy and the door to her apartment, and not a moment too soon. 

Iron Man, Thor, and Bucky Barnes piled into her apartment at speed, quickly followed by Black Widow, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch, and Jane Foster with one of her prototype portal thingies. No one seemed particularly surprised that Steve was already present. Going from Bucky’s shit-eating grin, Darcy guessed there might be a nefarious reason Steve might have heard Friday’s alarm before the rest of the team.

“Lewis!” Tony’s tinny Iron Man voice emerged from his suit and Friday’s speakers. “Are you hurt?”

Darcy set one hand at the small of Steve’s back, and didn’t miss his shiver when her fingers dipped under the waistband of his low-slung pants.

“I’m not hurt, but if the Avengers don’t  _unassemble_  in the next ten seconds,  _someone_  will be.”


	8. Be vigitant, I beseech you - Darcy/Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The play's the thing wherein Darcy and Bucky nearly get caught fooling around by theater security

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Meleedamage in return for making me a Dogberry gif
> 
> Rated E and also cracky

_Enter_ , BUCKY and DARCY,  _kissing_. 

> BUCKY: Are you sure you want to do this here, doll?
> 
> DARCY: Yea, verily. The play is dull as fuck. / I’d way rather amuse myself with you.
> 
> BUCKY: With me, forsooth? Not just the part for which / your quick and bawdy hands unclasp my belt?

Bucky’s breath caught when she reached into his slacks and palmed his balls. She pressed into his side as she fondled him through his shorts. Her softly-styled hair was tangled from his hands, and her mouth was smeared from his kisses. 

“The intermission is gonna end in five minutes,” he warned. He’d found them a stage lighting corridor past the private boxes on the top floor.

Darcy slipped to her knees and groused, “It’s a terrible production. Strobe effects and smoke machines.” She freed his cock from the placket of his underwear and gave the head an experimental swirl of the tongue. 

Bucky tipped his head against the wall and groaned as she took him deeper. Her spit-slick hand worked him in quick, deft strokes. Her lips and tongue teased over him, feather-light, before her mouth engulfed him and she was drawing on his cock like he’d been bitten by a rattlesnake.

He wasn’t going to last long like this. 

Just as he was lifting a hand to pull some clinging hair away from her mouth, Darcy drew back and exclaimed, “And half the cast are dressed as clowns! What kind of  _Romeo and Juliet_  is this?!”

The distant crackle of a radio froze them both. Bucky had only missed the sound of the guards’ boots because Darcy’s mouth took up his full attention.

They heard a closer, “Yeah, we can hear someone down the hall, sir. We’re checking it out now.”

Bucky hauled Darcy to her feet and stuffed his cock back into his pants. Darcy zipped ahead to the door back into public spaces, the grating drone of the lead actor bleeding in when she cracked it open. The house lights were down, thankfully; they were both a mess. Maybe they could make their escape unseen.

“Excuse me, sir? Sir!”

They ran.

_Exeunt, pursued by security._


	9. Keeping Still - Darcy/Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smuuuuut: D/s, orgasm delay, creampie, anal fingering

He grunted above her and stilled, his weight along her back crushing her into the mattress. Darcy trembled all over, on the edge and sheened with sweat. The bed was damp under her, sheet sticking to her skin. 

She didn’t dare move, but she couldn't help how her inner muscles twitched around his cock. She’d been instructed to stay quiet and still and take it, and he knew how difficult that was for her. He’d pulled her pillow away from her face so she couldn’t stifle her moans, either. Worse, she had to ask permission to come, and she couldn't without ignoring his order. 

With her legs pressed together and her hips raised on a pillow, the stretch of his cock inside her had her right on the precipice, and she wanted to go over it so, so badly. She wouldn’t, until he told her to. She wouldn’t.

Disobeying at this point would net a swift punishment, and the loss of her orgasms for the foreseeable future. In a word: unthinkable.

Her held breath left in a rush when he lifted off her. The noise of his cock slipping out of her cunt was wet and final. Disappointment welled, and the throb of her neglected clit made her head spin. She could feel a trickle of cum out of her cunt, and wished he would allow her to beg.

The bed shifted, but he didn’t leave her. She could feel his knees on the outside of her thighs.

His palms spread her ass, and his thumbs pulled her tender labia apart. A little gush of cum escaped her, and Darcy could feel her face burn. All she needed was one quick rub against her clit- just one finger! She was so close; he had to know.

One of his hands moved, three fingers sinking into the dripping heat of her cunt. The surprise almost blew her over the edge. They were gone before she could brace herself.

They were back in an instant, pressing circles against her asshole. Darcy twitched despite herself. Months ago, when she gave herself to him, she had squirmingly told him she hadn’t liked  _ backdoor activity _ , but that didn’t matter now. He didn’t need to remind her that her likes and dislikes didn’t signify. She wanted what he chose to give her. 

He didn’t need to ask permission.

His fingers were so wet, one slipped inside her ass with little resistance. Her heart pounded in her chest and throbbed between her legs. Everything narrowed down to the twist and tug in her ass. The second pushed in beside the first and Darcy’s body started to tremble again. Her inner muscles twitched as her body stretched to his bidding. The unfamiliar burn was pinging around her body. 

There was no time to fully adjust to the intrusion; his slicked fingers stroked into her ass as steadily as his cock into her cunt. She couldn’t control the soft, desperate sounds sliding from her throat.

His voice was rough and unexpected after so long, “Darcy.”

Her guts clenched.

“Come, _now_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Mystery Dude, lol. He could be anyone!  
> Who do you think he is?


	10. FYDL Smut Week: Red-Handed - Darcy/Jack Rollins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis 2018 Smut Week, day 1. Here's some SHIELD Agent!Darcy getting into trouble ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Darcy/Jack Rollins  
> Rating: strong M

Darcy is never playing Truth Or Dare with junior SHIELD agents ever again. Screw team bonding, screw tequila shots, and screw Agent Vasquez especially for coming up with the idea.

Stealing something from the scariest member of the scary-as-hell elite ops team is the kind of challenge that either makes you a legend or makes you a sad footnote in a confidential dossier. She hadn’t backed down from the challenge, and she wouldn’t. She is Probationary Agent Darcy Lewis, and she will complete the mission come hell or high water. But, yeah, she is never putting herself in this position again.

“In and out, Lewis,” she mutters. “You’ve trained for this. Just grab the first thing you see and get out. Easy.”

Rollins’ private bunk is two levels up from the probies’ communal bunks, and has stricter access. Darcy figured out a workaround on the locks in her second week, but this will be the first time she uses it. Of course, she could get bumped back to Level 1, or even booted from SHIELD if she gets caught by a superior.

She just won’t get caught, then.

The door releases with a soft puff of hydraulics, and Darcy darts into the dark room beyond. She doesn’t want to stumble into anything, so she freezes and waits for her eyes to adjust to the low light. Better to wait a few seconds than knock something over that Rollins will notice later. Anyway, she’s got time: Rollins is on overnight training and his bunk is empty.

Except it isn’t.

He’s leaned back on his bed, and the first thing Darcy notices is the glint of the k-bar in his hand. Rollins has it poised to throw, but as she stands frozen, his arm relaxes. The knife is set on his nightstand, nothing there but the sheath and his ancient cellphone.

The next thing she notices is the way the water droplets on his skin catch the low light from his dresser lamp. Rollins’ hair is slicked back, wet. The air is damp and smells of soap. The only thing on him is the remains of his shower, and the glisten of light over every scarred, taut muscle.

The last thing she notices is the slow stroke of his other hand up the curve of his erect cock. He’s still watching her. The shot of adrenaline at being caught flips into something else, and Darcy feels her panties flood.

Darcy can’t pull her eyes away from his hand, fist moving down his cock in a languorous grip. The upstroke is even slower, and he wrings out a bead of fluid that catches the light.

“So?”

She drags her eyes up Rollins, lingering up his abs and chest and shoulders, and the shift of light as his arm keeps moving. His eyes are amused- this is the first time she’s ever seen anything but STRIKE-standard murderface on him.

“Truth or Dare,” she explains. Her throat is dry, it clicks when she swallows.

“Okay,” he drawls, “truth or dare?”

Darcy can’t help it- her eyes flick down his body. She wets her lips. “Dare.”

Rollins settles back against the head of his bunk. His hand braces his cock at the base, last two fingers spread across his balls. It curves towards his belly, and she needs to press her thighs together with how badly she wants to sit on that cock.

“Dare you to help me with this.”

She thumbs the lock shut without looking.

“Dare accepted.”


	11. FYDL Smut Week: Sinful - Darcy/Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis 2018 Smut Week, day 2. Darcy/deserumed!Steve, feat. Steve's huge dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E

“I’m going to hell for this,” she murmurs, unable to keep the grin off her face. “Defiling Captain America before he even got the serum? America’s precious cinnamon roll?” She rolls her hips on his lap, shivering at the pressure to her clit. “Yeah. Definitely going to hell.”

Steve rolls his eyes and huffs below her on the couch. He’s got asthma again, so he’s saving his breath.

His pipe-cleaner arms flex under her thighs, shifting her enough that she gets the message and lifts her hips. A long-fingered hand disappears under her skirt, the lust-dark blue of his eyes fixed on her face. Steve breaches her with two fingers, just how she likes. She’s so sloppy wet already he hardly has to scissor his fingers at all before adding a third. The stretch is  _so good_ , but she wants his dick, like, now.

She kneels up and away, Steve’s fingers slipping up over her clit as she shifts. He lifts his hips so she can pull down the sweatpants he had to borrow from  _Natasha_.

Darcy looks down and barks, “Holy shit!” A quick glance up at Steve shows an unrepentant smirk playing with the corners of his mouth. His Bambi lashes flutter as he wriggles his hips under her hands. “Where the hell did this come from?!”

The smirk is full-blown now, and Darcy can’t believe she ever thought she could corrupt Steve Rogers.

“Same as it always is, Darce.”

“Nuh uh.” She can’t believe he was packing a dick this size and didn’t get any action in the 30s. What, did Brooklyn not have any size queens back then?

He’s just so… proportional when he’s big. He’s big all over, usually. She can’t believe Howard Stark’s easy-beefcake oven hadn’t affected  _this_.

But Darcy does believe in experiential proof, so she pulls her skirt back, sits up, and sits down on Steve’s monster.

“Fuuuuuck,” she groans. Yeah, that- that is the stretch she knows so well. She bounces a little to wedge his cock deeper inside her. She never gets him inside all in one go, more’s the pity.

“Jesus Christ, Darcy!” Steve jerks under her, the unintentional thrust of his hips jouncing her further onto his cock. His breath is heavy, and he’s pink all the way down under the collar of his t-shirt. “Take it easy, doll, this ain’t a race.”

She leans her hands back on the cushion between Steve’s knees and feels so full she could squirt. (Then again, she would rather not have this be the third couch they’ve destroyed in six months. And she would  _really_ rather not have to explain how they managed that feat when Steve doesn’t even have super strength right now.) She shifts forward, gripping the cushion on either side of Steve’s head for leverage instead of pressing on his chest. She doesn’t want to risk his breathing when she can see every narrow rib.

He tips his chin up for a kiss and she obliges, marveling at how she has to curl down to meet him in this position. She’s so used to having Steve bending down for her kisses. Darcy plunders his mouth until she feels his cock twitch.

Steve’s thumb finds her clit as she starts to ride him, rocking her hips to fit his dick inside her completely. Darcy can’t help the groan that climbs its way out of her.

He doesn’t speed his touch, either, as Darcy picks up the pace. Each downstroke of her hips presses his finger between her clit and his belly, but that’s as much extra as she gets. She knows if she tries to hurry him, he’ll just dig in his heels.

But she’s so close, and he’s got that  _goddamn_ smirk on his  _goddamn_ gorgeous face.

“Goddammit, Steve, faster.”

“You got it, doll.” And on her next downstroke, he digs in his heels and bucks up into her.

The clap of their skin is drowned out by Darcy’s shriek. Her inner muscles squeeze down, and Steve groans. He  _finally_ flickers his thumb over her clit, and Darcy bows over, t-shirt-covered breasts nearly smothering him as she comes. Her thighs shake with it, and jesus christ she is literally seeing stars.

Steve’s free hand pulls her hips closer, and she can feel the throb of his cock in tandem with the rhythmic grip of her pussy.

Under her, he’s panting- they’re both panting- and Darcy stops herself from collapsing on top of him like she usually would. There’s a slight wheeze to his breaths that has her eyeing the emergency inhaler on the coffee table.

Darcy lifts up and feels their combined release start to slip out of her.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes, and Darcy watches him lick his mouth like a kid in a vintage ad for American Apple Pie. Some kind of pie, anyway.

His hands press on the backs of her thighs, and Darcy gets the message and knee-walks up the sofa, lips curled into her mouth to stem the flow of concerned-for-your-health bullshit she knows Steve hates. He’ll let her know if he needs a break, but she’s pretty sure even in the kind of shape he’s in, he can do this all day.

Darcy looks down at Steve between her thighs: the pink cheeks, the ridiculous lashes, the tousled hair, the lips red and glossy from her kisses, the determined brow. And yeah- as she goes to sit on his face- yeah,

She is totally going to hell for this.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr!](http://zephrbabe.tumblr.com/)


End file.
